He Would Follow Him Anywhere
by ginnygirl87
Summary: Mycroft Holmes had said once that where Sherlock went, John Watson always followed. Why should this be any different?


This started as an RP session on Omegle, and I thought it was too good not to tweak into a story. First _completed_ work ya'all! Lol. Anyway, everything, as usual, belongs to ACD and BBC. Love and Hugs, Ginnygirl87. P.S. Reviews are appreciated.

o~*~o

**He Would Follow Him Anywhere**

John walked up the stairs of St. Barts with a purpose. It was now or never. He'd been living on his own without Sherlock for three years now, and he couldn't bear it anymore. Mycroft had said once that where Sherlock went, John always followed. Why should this be any different? He walked towards the ledge, remembering that day. "Hello Sherlock." he whispered into the air. "Care to be joined?"

"I really don't think that's a very good idea, if I'm to speak my mind," said a voice from behind, reaching forward to grab his arm and pull him away from the edge. The man's hands were trembling slightly, the only clue that on the inside he was terrified he had been about to lose John forever.

"Sh-Sherlock?" said John, shocked as to what he was seeing. "God, I really have lost it now, haven't I?" he said, bewildered.

"No," Sherlock said softly, staring at John's face and letting a gentle smile appear on his own. He had missed John so much. "You had to think I was dead. It was the only way. Now please, come away from the edge and we can sit down somewhere safe to talk about this. Please."

John chuckled slightly. "Gone off my rocker. Really have. Now I see you, and you're trying to stop me. How typical." John chocked out a sob. "I just want to stop this…all this hurt." He stepped closer to the edge.

Holding John tighter, Sherlock pulled him roughly away and closer to the centre of the top of the building. "Don't you dare. I'm right here! Look at me, John. Look at me and then tell me you still don't believe this is all real. You can feel me, see? I'm alive."

John, hands shaking, reached up to touch Sherlock. He was warm. And solid. And.. "You're real." he whispered, in awe. "But—but…" he stammered "you're dead. I saw it. I took your pulse."

"Just a small trick. A ball under the arm stops the blood flow into the wrist which is the only place you had time to test." Sherlock moved his hands up to grip John's face gently. "I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. They would have killed you."

"But-you..." John let everything sink in. Then his expression hardened. "You. Bloody. Bastard!" John yelled, and pummelled his fist onto Sherlock's cheek. "You think I can't protect myself? I. Am. A. Soldier. I _know how to protect myself_!" John screamed. "IT'S BEEN THREE YEARS. Three FUCKING years, Sherlock!"

Stumbling back and reaching up to hold his own face now, Sherlock nodded jerkily in response to John's words. "I know. I'm sorry, John. I had to… they were everywhere. What I said about Moriarty being a spider and having a web was true. I had to make sure there was no one left who could hurt us."

"Don't want to know. Don't care. Have you any idea what it DID to me?" John growled in response.

"I had to do it, to keep you safe! But I'm alive, see? I'm fine. Things can go back to the way they were." Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Sherlock's part. John didn't look ready to forgive him yet.

"Like hell it will." John snarled. Then, seeing the look on Sherlock's face, his expression softened a bit. "Just—I need some time to let it sink in." he said quietly.

"We could sit down somewhere, if you like," Sherlock suggested softly, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe… downstairs, inside. So no one can think about jumping off any buildings again."

John chuckled slightly. "Alright." He followed Sherlock quietly down the stairs and it hit him that, yes, wherever Sherlock went, he would always follow.

o~*~o

Once they were sitting down in a secluded room, Sherlock tried to explain further. "I knew from the start that he would have me kill myself in the end. I tried not to involve you, John, but there was nothing I could do except make it appear that I _had_ played along. Since you were… you _are_ closest to me, your reaction had to be genuine. I'm sorry."

"I don't really understand." said John. "How—how'd you do it?"

"Molly helped out," Sherlock murmured, hoping John wouldn't become angry with Molly as well now. "There were people in place at the bottom. I landed safely and… well. You didn't know what was happening because the man on the bike who knocked you over was planned as well. I couldn't afford to have you see what was _really_ going on."

"M-Molly knew?" said John, disbelieving. "And she never told me." he added quietly. "No wonder she always acted sort of—off." John sighed. "So…what have you been doing this whole time?"

"Destroying the web," Sherlock explained. "So that eventually, I could come back… and just in time, too, it seems." Swallowing nervously, Sherlock reached out and took John's hand gently. He couldn't imagine what would have happened if he was too late.

John blushed. "Yeah. Seems so." he whispered. "How'd you know where I'd be?" he asked quietly.

"I asked Molly. Told her it was time and I was finally coming back, and so she let me know that she'd seen you in one of the corridors about ten minutes ago. I came straight away." Sherlock stared down at where their hands were connected, feeling guilty for all the pain he had ever put John through as he had experienced his own small bit of what it must have been like just by seeing John on top of the building.

John saw Sherlock staring at their hands, and he decided to give his hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you came." he whispered.

"So am I," Sherlock replied quietly. "I… I have to be honest and say I haven't kept as close an eye on you as I wanted to. I had Mycroft watching you, of course. I'm sorry that I didn't notice it had become so bad."

John frowned. "Of course it was bad. How could it have been anything other than bad?" He looked up at him. "Does everyone else know? Everyone but me?"

"No," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "Only Molly and Mycroft know. Well, there are those others who helped make it all possible… but they're not important."

"Okay." said John, brightening a bit. He was glad he wasn't the last to know.

"Are you okay, now?" Sherlock asked nervously. "You believe I'm real and you're not about to go and jump again?"

"Yeah I'm—I'm okay." said John, looking at his friend. "Although I'd be more confident about it if we talked to Molly or Mrs. Hudson. To know I'm not the only one who sees you."

"We can do that if you like…" Sherlock nodded slowly, but a slight frown was on his face. He looked hesitant for a moment before murmuring, "Would it be so bad to have me all to yourself?"

"No. Wouldn't be bad at all." John said, a little huskily. He shook himself. "I just want to make absolutely positive I'm not crazy."

"The truth is, John…" Sherlock shifted and pulled his hand away from the other man so they weren't touching any longer. "I can't remember asking Molly if she'd seen you. I just have a feeling that's how I knew to come here. What I'm trying to say, is… I'm not sure if I'm real anymore either."

"Don't. Don't you dare." John says, fear forming in his eyes. "You'd better be goddamn real. I'm not going to go through losing you again. Not when I lo—" he stopped abruptly. "Not when I can't live without you."

"All I want is to be with you," Sherlock said fiercely. "_You_ can see me, _you_ can hear me. Why would it have to matter if no one else could? See, I'm not… I'm not sure I want to find out. If I'm not real and someone else comes to speak to you and doesn't see me, do I disappear? Because I don't want to leave you, John. Ever again."

"But you said…said you talked with Molly." John said quietly, his voice shaking. "Doesn't that mean you're real? Besides. I can feel you. If you were just a figment of my imagination, I wouldn't be able to touch you." Then he said, "No. You'd better not. You'd better not leave me alone, ever again. Because then I'd definitely be back up on that roof again. And I'd follow through."

"I _think_ I spoke to Molly. I don't actually remember it. Normally I can remember everything." Sherlock looked down at John's hand again, slowly moving his own over to cover it softly. "I don't know if this makes me real, or just means your mind is incredibly powerful."

John sighed. He was still incredibly scared. "Well…since you're a figment of my imagination, then that means you already know. All my thoughts." he said quietly.

Moving his thumb to gently rub against John's hand, Sherlock nodded slowly. "Which thoughts in particular would you be referring to?" Leaning in slightly, and relying purely on instinct, Sherlock glanced down at John's lips before looking back up into his eyes again and murmuring, "These ones?"

John hoped he hadn't misread what Sherlock's eyes were telling him, but honestly he could care less. He got to his feet and kissed Sherlock desperately. 'Please be real' he thought to himself.

Gasping sharply, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close, kissing back with everything he had and trying to convince himself he was real as well. Then again, maybe John was the one that wasn't real in this situation. Perhaps Sherlock was dreaming. That would explain why John was so obviously returning his feelings when he had previously been adamantly 'not gay'.

John broke away then, and tears were falling from his eyes. "Right then. Best dream I've ever had. Or an incredible figment of my imagination. Because there is no way the real Sherlock Holmes—the one who is asexual and hates physical contact—would ever pull me close to him like that." He was choking on his sobs. "Well—since you obviously aren't real—then I suppose I can tell you." John stuttered out. "I love you." he whispered, and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again.

Caught up in kissing the most important man in his life, Sherlock didn't have time to correct what he was saying and tell him how he really felt. Would it even matter, in the end? If John believed he was a hallucination, then anything he said about loving John back would just be interpreted as the hallucination giving John what he wanted. Since, obviously, it knew his thoughts. Finally pushing back slightly from the kiss, Sherlock licked his lips and was about to speak when he heard a door open and froze, eyes widening in fear and his hands gripping John tighter.  
"John?" Molly called softly, standing in the doorway and looking at him sadly. "Are you okay?"

"M-Molly?" John asked shakily. He held on to the apparition of Sherlock as if his life depended on it. "Can—can you see him?" he asked quietly.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked, her expression of empathy turning to one of mild amusement. "Of course I can see him. I meant, are you okay? You're not mad at him, or…?"

"You—you _can_ see him?" asked John again, incredulously.

"Yes, John. I can see him." Molly walked over then and pulled a chair up so that she could sit in front of them both. "He's right here and he's looking as white as a sheet. What have you said to him?"

Sherlock swallowed nervously, licking his lips again and glancing at John for an answer. This was all real. They had kissed. John loved him. They were safe. Sherlock could move back into 221B. Moriarty was dead.

John collapsed in a chair. What did this mean? It meant that Sherlock really was back. And they had kissed. And he hadn't pulled away…he'd pulled him in closer. "I—what's happening?" John asked, bewildered. "He's—he really is real then. Which means…I just told him…the real Sherlock Holmes…that I...love him…oh." It was John's turn to go as white as a sheet.

Molly couldn't stop the giggle which spilled forth from her lips but quickly put a hand over her mouth and leaned back, trying not to interrupt.  
Turning to face John, Sherlock took his hand again and smiled softly. "I love you too, John. I think it must have been the fear of losing you forever which finally made me realize."

"You—really?" John sputtered. "Really? You…Sherlock Holmes…love…_me_? But…I'm nobody. I'm just plain old John Watson. And you…asexual…don't love anybody…" he managed to get out.

"Asexual? No. Johnsexual, perhaps." Sherlock smiled at him, squeezing his hand gently and then leaning in quickly for another kiss to try and alleviate his fears.

"Suppose I'll just…leave you two then, shall I?" asked Molly, blushing. She didn't wait for a response, as the two people in front of her were too engrossed in each other to hear her. John gazed up at Sherlock uncertainly, but all doubt went away when he saw the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed him. "I—I can't believe this is real. It's real. Oh God, Sherlock." he pulled the detective in closely, sobbing into his chest.

"I love you," Sherlock said again, holding John in his arms and finding that he loved the way those words sounded. And they were absolutely true. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"I love you too Sherlock." John whispered. "God, how I've missed you."

And, moments later, John followed Sherlock to a cab that took them back to 221 B at last. He would always follow Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft's words, at least in this case, were unwaveringly true. He would follow him anywhere.


End file.
